


Connect-the-Dots

by ArgentLives



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Moles and Freckles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5498582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things you don't really notice until you're really up close and personal with someone, like the fact that Barry's moles and freckles extend a lot further than just his face and his neck and even his chest. They're all over the place, and Iris loves every single one of them. She's also made it her personal mission to explore every inch of his body for more. It's a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connect-the-Dots

**Author's Note:**

> This sounds smutty but it's really not, so sorry to disappoint you if that's what you're looking for. But really, have you seen this guy's moles? (or freckles, whatever, idk what to call them. either way there's a lot.) This is pretty much entirely self-indulgent.

“Iris…” he mutters sleepily, cracking an eye open to try and gauge the situation. They’d been lying in bed and he’d been just on the brink of sleep, Iris curled up cozily at his side, when suddenly he’d felt her shift and she just…hadn’t been anymore. Now she’s apparently half on top of him, if the comfortable pressure is anything to go by, and there’s the feeling of something a little wet but not at all unpleasant on his chest. “…Iris, what are you doing?”

“Shhh,” Iris murmurs, her lips soft and warm against his skin, “I’m playing connect-the-dots.”

“Wait, _what?”_

“There’s just so many,” she whispers in amazement, her breath ghosting over his skin, and he gets the impression that she’s more or less saying it to herself, that the words aren’t really meant for him. Which means she’s ignoring him. It doesn’t annoy him as much as it should, really, because her lips are pressed against him again in lieu of an answer, and it just…well, it feels really nice.

“Iris,” he tries again, squirming a little underneath her, his skin buzzing at the contact, and definitely feeling much more awake than he had just moments ago. Iris, predictably, ignores him again.

It’s somehow simultaneously soothing and electrifying, but he lets his eyes slip shut again, anyway and just enjoy it. Her tongue glides maddeningly from his collarbone to his chest, and his next _‘Iris’_ gets caught in his throat as she plunges lower, and lower, and lower, pausing every now and again when she finds a particularly cute mole to kiss, in zig-zags from his chest to his stomach and then—oh.

His eyes fly open in shock as she pauses at a particularly sensitive area, and she hums thoughtfully against the skin there, drumming her fingers against his side. He swallows hard, and forces himself to ask. “What? What is it?”

“I just thought of something really important,” she says a little breathlessly, her voice heavy with excitement, and then— “Do you have any back here?”

“Iris!” he jumps a bit, his back arching before falling back onto the mattress with an embarrassing lack of grace when he feels her fingers slip underneath the waistband of his boxers, tugging them downward so that they rest just below his hipbones.

“This is important. For science. Turn over,” she says, slipping her hands around his backside.

“What! Iris— _no_.”

“Barr-yyy,” she whines, looking up at him through her eyelashes, resting her chin dangerously low on his stomach. “Come on, I thought you _loved_ science.”

He makes the mistake of looking right at her, and he holds her gaze for all of two seconds before he’s muttering under his breath and flipping onto his stomach for her, burying his face into his pillow. His face burns with a little bit of embarrassment and a lot of something else as he feels her fingers glide easily along the small of his back, taking their time as they trail them lower to find what they’re looking for, which they must, because Iris lets out a happy little gasp at whatever it is she’s found.

“You _do_ ,” Iris says, sounding positively delighted by this discovery, “Barry, oh my God, that’s _adorable_.”

“I hate you,” he says, and attempts to roll back over, but he’s momentarily distracted when she holds him in place and lets out another squeal of delight.

“Oh! Oh! I found a shape!”

“Please tell me it’s not on my butt.”

“No, it’s riiiiight—” there’s a pause as she nudges him, silently urging him to roll over back over onto his back—with which he’s more than happy to comply—and he shivers a bit as she moves her fingers across his skin, her touch light and soft, before she finally reaches her destination. “—here! On your hip.” She traces the area with her nail, presumably from mole to mole, or freckle to freckle—he’s never really been able to tell what they are, honestly, but at least Iris seems to appreciate them—pressing just hard enough, he’s sure, to leave a faint pink outline. He feels his lips twitch upward as he follows the path of her finger, easily recognizing what she’s drawing.

“A heart? Really?”

“Shut up, it’s _your_ skin,” she huffs, digging her nails in just a little harder than necessary. “Quick, pass me my handbag. It’s right on the nightstand, there. It’s already starting to fade, thanks to your stupid super-healing.”

He rolls his eyes and reaches over to snag her purse off the nightstand, wondering what it is she could possibly want from there. She rarely ever even uses it, to begin with. He’s even more surprised when she roots through it and pulls out a tube of lipstick, grinning at it like it holds all the answers.

“What are you—?” he starts to say, completely at a loss as she uncaps the lipstick and twists it so that the red is peeking over the top, wondering why she would suddenly have the urge to reapply it now, when they’re already in bed, and she’s already taken all her makeup off from the day. He gives up trying to understand when instead of bringing it to her lips, she brings it to his hip and presses in against _his_ skin. But for once she actually decides to explain, anyway.

“I’m coloring it in, of course. That’s what you do when you connect the dots. Duh.”

“You are incredible,” Barry mutters, and Iris responds with a cheeky _‘Thank you’_ even though she knows full well that’s not how he meant it.

“Completely ridiculous,” he feels necessary to add as the cool feel of the lipstick settles on his skin, oddly soothing.

“Mhmmm.”

“Weird as hell.”

“Be quiet, you love it,” she huffs, pulling the lipstick away and moving back to admire her work.

“Maybe,” he concedes, and before she can cap the lipstick off he reaches down to grab her wrist, stopping her in the act.

“What?” she tilts her head, considering him with mischief in her eyes, “Do you want me to do more? Because you’ve got a cluster of moles that looks suspiciously like a lightning bolt on your thigh and I’d love to mark that one up, too.”

“Nah, you’re done defiling my skin,” he grins at her, not really meaning it, because he can see the red little heart on his hip and it’s actually really cute—which of course he’ll never admit. “But I bet I can top you.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and it takes him a few beats to realize her mind is going in a very different direction than what he means. “Wow, okay, that’s totally not what I meant—well, at least not right now. Jeez, Iris, get your head out of the gutter.” Rich, considering they’re both mostly naked, and the gutter is exactly where they’re heading soon, no doubt. “I meant I’m a more superior artist. I bet I could do better, on your skin.”

Iris snorts, straightening up a bit to give him her best eye-roll. “Psh, okay. I don’t even have any moles or freckles, Barry, you couldn’t even if you wanted to.”

“Oh, really? Watch me. Here—give me that.” He snatches the uncapped-lipstick from her hand, sitting up and placing a hand on her hip to balance, his tongue poking through his lips in concentration as he uses he lipstick to draw a line across her abdomen, starting higher up at the side, dipping lower in the middle and then right back up again.

“There,” he says triumphantly, pulling back to view his work.

Iris doesn’t bother looking down, just quirks an eyebrow at him and gestures to…whatever it is he’s just done. “That’s it? Really? That took like, maybe two seconds, tops.”

“It’s the quality that counts, Iris. And _ingenuity_. See, it’s a smiley face. Here’s the mouth,” he traces the curved line he’s drawn onto her stomach, spanning from hip to hip, “And here’s the nose,” he pokes her belly button, earning him the cutest giggle he’s probably ever heard, “Aaaand here are the eyes.”

He brushes the pads of his thumbs over her breasts, grinning wickedly at her as her eyes go wide and her breath catches in her throat.

“Oh my God,” she says, staring at his hands, and then back up at him, and then at his hands on her chest again, obviously trying to decide whether to completely ignore his masterpiece and just ask him to keep touching her, _please_. Or, you know, actually humor him. Finally, she squints, and looks down at her stomach, and Barry reluctantly moves his hands away so that she can get the full picture. She takes one look at herself and promptly doubles over with laughter, clutching at her stomach and probably messing up all Barry’s _hard work_ —which he makes sure to tell her with a petulant fake-pout on his lips—but she can’t help it. She laughs until tears spring in her eyes, until her whole body is shaking with it, and buries her face against his chest.

“You okay down there?” he mutters into her hair, trying (and mostly failing) to hold back his own laughter because hers is and always has been infectious, his smile making his cheeks hurt. But really, he’s all business here.

She lifts her head from his chest to grin at him, her eyes sparkling, hiccupping a little as she forces herself to sober up, and before he can ask her if she’s still breathing she kisses him hard. She kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, and he kisses her back, feeling light and giddy and high off her laughter. He’s just about to pull her back down on the bed with him when she has to break away again, resting her forehead against his as she dissolves back into laughter. He can feel her smile against his lips, feel her laughter filling him up, leaving him feeling warm and lighter than ever, and he thinks it can’t really get much better than this.

Which is pretty fucking amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
